


The Griffin and the Lion

by Harlequin_Ravenwing



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II, Dragon Age: Inquisition, Dragon Age: Origins, Dragon Age: Origins - Awakening
Genre: Adventure, Angst, Eventual Sex, F/M, Grey Wardens, Intimacy, Mages, Romance, Templars
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-18
Updated: 2020-07-07
Packaged: 2021-03-04 04:42:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 17,340
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24787906
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Harlequin_Ravenwing/pseuds/Harlequin_Ravenwing
Summary: Former Grey Warden mage, Anders set the world on fire and started the Mage Rebellion. As the conflict escalates, Warden Commander Ellanne Amell is sent to Kirkwall and allies with Knight Commander Cullen to try and find him and bring him to justice.  However nothing is what it seems and what secrets will be exposed when old feelings are rekindled more strongly than ever, and just what is the new threat lurking beneath the surface ready to take advantage of the chaos and destroy all of Thedas?Story set between DA:2 and just before the events of DAI.All settings/characters property of Bioware and credit to Dragon Age Wiki for being the best referece in the whole of Thedas.
Relationships: Cullen Rutherford/Female Warden
Comments: 1
Kudos: 6





	1. Shattered Steel

# Prologue – Shattered Steel

_Kinloch Hold, Lake Calenhad, Ferelden. ___

_Nine Years Ago… ___

"So, what do you have to say for yourself, Ser?"

__

"Nothing, Knight Commander. There's no more I can say other than I was acting in the best interest of the Circle. That is, at least I thought that I was doing the right thing."

__

"The best interest of the Circle…?" Knight Commander Greagoir slammed his mailed fist into the scorched wood of his desk as he struggled to contain his ever-increasing anger. "Three apprentices dead, Rutherford! Three! And you have nothing more to say than you thought you were doing the right thing! How in the seven hells did you come to that conclusion?"

__

"I thought…I thought…" Knight Templar Cullen Rutherford felt his resolve beginning to crumble under the penetrating gaze of the Knight Commander, but still he could not look away and instead felt as if his very soul was being laid bare. "Forgive me Ser, but given the recent events here with the blood mages and the…the demons, I had to be certain they were contained, that they were no longer a threat. I had to be sure that they were...were…"

__

"Dead? Murdered? Slaughtered like common darkspawn?" Greagoir's rage seemed to heat the entire room, so great was its burning intensity. "You are a Templar, Cullen! One whom I anticipated would serve the order and the Circle both! You have a sworn duty to protect not only your fellow brethren within the Tower, but also the mages in your care! Those apprentices were little more than children! Utterly misguided, definitely and maleficars, quite probably but this was not certain and they were a far cry from the abominations who tuned this place into a charnel house during the Blight! Maker’s breath, man! Did you not stop to think that you should have come to me with this?"

__

"I…I regret I did not, Knight Commander."

__

"Did you not think it was a good idea to bring them to the attention of the First Enchanter so the matter could be investigated and their actions scrutinised to determine their guilt?”

__

“As I indicated, I did not.”

__

“Moreover, if they had been guilty of their crimes then the laws dictate that their executions should have taken place after we had been able to consider all the facts at hand and not just based on the suspicions of a junior member of the Order! Tell me, Cullen? How do you propose that we explain this to the grieving families, huh? What would you have me say…?"

__

"They were blood mages, Ser Greagoir! Filthy accursed blood mages just waiting to become abominations!" Cullen let out an anguished cry as hot tears beginning to spill freely over his cheeks. "They would have summoned the demons again and again, and slaughtered every man, woman and child as soon as they got the chance, but only after they had had their fun and taken everything from us that we hold dear! Can't you see, Ser? Can't you see what they would have done to you and to our brothers and sisters? I know what they are capable of. I survived it! You forget that it was me that endured Uldred's torment as a plaything for his whim! That bastard took my memories, my innermost thoughts and feelings and he twisted them and corrupted them until I no longer knew friend from foe. He took things that were precious and cherished and corrupted them into depraved visions that I relive almost every night in my dreams and even sometimes on waking. All those memories of my friends, my family and of…of…someone I cared for! Back then, when I was living the nightmare, even you yourself could not help and were ready to invoke the Rite of Annulment and kill us all rather than let the madness go on! It took a Grey Warden to free us all from that nightmare and she would not even have been there if she wasn’t looking for allies to stand against the Blight…"

__

"And may I remind you both that the very same Grey Warden who freed us all also happened to be a mage?"

__

Cullen started as the soft voice of First Enchanter Irving broke into their conversation.

__

"I promise you that we are not all blood-mages and abominations, lad. Surely, Warden Commander Amell herself is proof of that?" Irving sighed heavily and shook his head. "She may well now be considered the Hero of Ferelden, risen to Warden Commander of the Grey, but you know as well as I do that she was also once a mage of this very Circle and, I’m proud to say, one of the most gifted students to ever walk these halls."

__

"The Warden is...is…” Cullen searched for the right words as the soothing memory of her presence pushed back against his inner darkness. “The Lady Amell was always a kind, caring individual. She is a most exceptional woman with a will as strong as any Templar’s and she would never allow herself to be corrupted by any demon."

__

"And yet, if Knight Commander Greagoir had his way, then she would now be one of the tranquil."

__

Greagoir cast a slightly reproving glance at the First Enchanter and then met Cullen’s questioning gaze.

__

"It's true." He stated flatly, flushing beneath Cullen's silent scrutiny. "Not long after her harrowing, Amell willingly participated in events that led directly to the escape of a suspected blood-mage. At the time she was acting on the orders of the First Enchanter here in an attempt to draw the maleficar out, but since I was not informed of the deception,” he raised an eyebrow at Irving. “I was unaware that her involvement had been a ruse and judged her to be a significant enough threat to warrant being made tranquil. Had my judgement not been over-ruled by the Grey Warden Commander that conscripted her on the spot, then Ellanne Amell would never have joined the order and become the hero that she is today. You see, I was wrong to judge without all the facts. Just as you were wrong to judge those apprentices without proof and without providing them the opportunity to explain themselves."

__

"But...but they were practicing blood-magic!" Cullen gasped, desperately trying to hold onto his convictions despite his heart filling with uncertainty. “I swear it! I swear it by Andraste’s tears!”

__

"Of that fact, now sadly we will never be completely sure although be in no doubt that if it was the case, we would have dealt with them harshly enough." Irving laid a hand upon his shoulder and a look of sadness crossed his face. "But it is not the reason for your actions that bring you to us now. It is the manner in which you chose to resolve this matter."

__

"The simple fact is you can no longer continue to serve with us here at Kinloch Hold." Greagoir held up a hand to wave off any protest before Cullen could even speak. "Your actions have condemned you just as surely as you condemned those apprentices."

__

Cullen felt his knees begin to buckle as the weight of his decision began to press down upon his shoulders. "You mean…I am to be expelled from service?"

__

"Service to Kinloch hold, yes. To the Templar order, no." For the first time since he had walked into the Knight Commander's chambers, Greagoir looked at him with something akin to concern. "For though you disregarded your training and took it upon yourself to act as judge and executioner, we do strongly suspect that the apprentices were indeed practicing blood-magic and therefore, in the eyes of the Maker, were as guilty as any other maleficar or abomination. However, this blatant disregard for both the doctrines of the order and the lives of the other mages living here within the Circle cannot be excused and you have become a liability to the stability of the Circle Tower of Ferelden and brought the order into disrepute. Yet despite this, apparently your actions have not gone unnoticed by those outside Ferelden and I have been approached by another Knight Commander who feels that she may be able to…help you to find your place amongst the Templars once more. Hopefully this will also bring back some self-discipline and much needed-routine back into your life."

__

"Where am I to be sent, Ser?" Cullen's voice was barely above a whisper.

__

"North to the Free Marches, to serve under Knight-Commander Meredith at the Circle of Magi in Kirkwall."

__

Kirkwall, City of Chains.

__

The former Tevinter city was known throughout Thedas as being forged from the bones of the slaves who poured in through its twisted gates. Even now, although the slaves were long gone, it was said the foundries there still belched out black smoke, shrouding the poorer areas of the city in a thick layer of dirt that was as grey as the morals of its inhabitants, and the welcome that awaited you was as jagged and deceptively dangerous as the rocks that surrounded the harbour. Not for nothing did the great bronze statues of the old gods open their mouths in silent scream of warning, and yet people still flocked to Kirkwall's shores in search of new trade and new lives for as much as there was poverty and misery contained within its walls, there was also great opportunity.

__

It was under Knight-Commander Meredith Stannard that the Templar order stationed there had grown to be a major power in the City. She was said to rule with an iron-fist, dominating even the Viscount himself and her vice-like grip on the Circle of Magi there was said to be sometimes overly firm but also fair.

__

Cullen closed his eyes and let out a profound sigh. Maybe Kirkwall could be the place to escape the horrors that still visited his dreams and to banish the pain and torment that still wracked his heart.

__

"When am I to leave, Ser?"

__

"On the morrow. You are to gather your things tonight and then Kester will meet you at the lakeside to take you across to shore." Greagoir's anger seemed to have dissolved into a kind of sullen resignation. "From there, you should make your way to West Hill and meet up with Knight-Corporal Staven and his recruits. They too are headed for Kirkwall and arrangements have been made for you to travel with them."

__

So soon then. It was clear they wanted him gone.

__

"Thank you, Knight Commander. Then I should go and pack, if…if that is all?"

__

Greagoir nodded once. "It is. You are dismissed Knight Templar Rutherford."

__

The finality of his words seemed suddenly more fearsome than all the demons of the Fade and shaking like a leaf, Cullen saluted, turned on his heel and took his leave of the Knight Commander, the First Enchanter and of Kinloch Hold.  
________________________________________

__

"You had every right to demand he stand trial, old friend." Greagoir finally felt his shoulders sag in fatigue as the young Templar left his chambers. "What he did to those apprentices…I would not have blamed you if you had asked for his expulsion."

__

"And what good would it do to heap more misfortune upon this terrible tragedy." Irving slowly shook his head and stroked his beard. "This Tower was once a place of learning and of the Art. It is to my deepest regret that I have lived long enough to see it become a dark footnote in the history of good people who came here only to learn or to serve their Maker. I can only hope that we reclaim what has been lost and once again make this a safe haven for mages and their templar guardians."

__

Greagoir watched in silence as the elderly mage sat down heavily into one of the great chairs by the fire. "But what if there are more like Cullen? Good men driven to act in ways that are simply unbefitting of a Templar. He killed those youths without trial or official sanction. I was his senior officer, Irving. He completed his training under my instruction and so I have to ask myself, was it I that caused this? Was it I that failed him to badly?"

__

Grabbing a bottle of rich red wine, the Knight Commander joined the First Enchanter by the flames and poured out two full glasses.

__

"I hardly think so, my friend." Irving answered with a sad smile, before pausing to take a drink. "Never forget that it was that deviant, Uldred who tried to turn the Tower into a place of evil. Perhaps if that…madman hadn't been allowed to move amongst the young ones unchecked, then I would have picked up on his intentions before he managed to corrupt the minds of those we were sworn to educate and protect. No, if there is blame to be found in this matter it could be said to be as much mine as yours, yet the truth of it all is that the real blame lies squarely with Uldred and no other. I saw the things he did to my fellow mages. I saw the creatures and vile passions he unleashed upon his victims and in that boy Cullen, he saw not only a victim but a symbol of Templar oppression and hatred that he could twist and destroy to satiate his own lust for vengeance. That the lad retained any sanity at all is actually a testament to your training. A lesser mind would have crumbled under the horrors he was forced to endure."

__

"That does not excuse him executing those three young fools who should have stood before the Chantry to confess their crimes before he decided to bloody-well lop off their heads." Greagoir angrily swallowed a large gulp of wine. "Maybe they were blood-mages, but in acting without the authority of his superiors...well, it was almost akin to murder!"

__

"You misunderstand me, old friend. I do not seek to excuse him." Irving leaned forward and regarded him intently. "Indeed, I am sickened by the actions which were so-readily taken against my students and if he had not been compelled to confess to you, then I may have been forced to take matters into my own hands. However, it is obvious to me that the lad is deeply troubled and tormented by his past experiences. Did you see him shaking and those tears, Greagoir? The lad has been broken almost to the point of no return and his distrust of magic and mages seems only to fuel the fires of doubt and fear which burn inside him. In that, the teachings of the Chantry and the Templars have much to play a part."

__

The First Enchanter's eyes seemed to bore into his soul and Greagoir dropped his gaze.

__

"Still..." Irving continued, relaxing back into his chair. "Perhaps in ending the lives of those youths so quickly with his blade, the lad has spared us all from further danger at the hands of yet more abominations. After everything this Circle has endured, we need to be sure that all those who would cause us further harm, either intentionally or as a result of dangerous and irresponsible practices are dealt with swiftly and with certainty. While I will never condone the summary executions of what were still only suspected maleficars, I too suffered at Uldred’s hands and know what horrors he inflicted on all those of us who were locked inside the tower and it is for that reason, I find myself feeling more compassionate than I would have expected. That is why I asked you to show mercy."

__

"I am not sure that sending him to Kirkwall is an act of mercy." Greagoir stared into the dancing flames and frowned. "I had suggested to my superiors that Cullen be sent to one of the rural posts, where he could have had time to recover from his mental scars and also reflect upon his actions in order to better understand the relationships and responsibilities of Templar and Mage. When they told me he was to serve under Knight Commander Meredith, it was not the choice I would have made."

__

"We rarely get to choose the path of our destiny, Greagoir. The Maker has his plan and we simply follow it as we must. It is the journey we take along the way that makes us who we are.” The ghost of a smile appeared on Irving’s face. “You know, I never told you but just before her harrowing, there had been rumours that one of our mages and a certain templar of our recent acquaintance had developed an affection for one another."

__

"Surely you're not saying that Cul..."

__

"I am not naming anyone as I should not wish innocent parties to suffer because of gossip, but needless to say that if there was an attraction between the them, then it was innocent enough and nothing inappropriate happened as far as I am aware. However in a strange way it does give me hope that a templar who, on the surface of it, appears to hate mages and all they stand for, at one point was rather enamoured of one and maybe it is through such honest, uncomplicated emotions as affection and friendship that we all may finally begin to understand one another and our place in the universe."

__

"An idealistic enough sentiment, but that is all it is. Sentiment." Greagoir snorted and drained the last of his wine. "A dangerous one it is too if you ask me. The last thing I need is for discipline and order to be disrupted because the templars and the mages start making cow-eyes at each other. Passions burn, Irving and in a place like this, that can open doorways for demons.”

__

“Ah yes, but Amell always had a passion for her studies and look where it has taken her.”

__

“Yes, but it took a Blight for her to truly find her way in the world. I should think it will take a damn sight more to put Cullen on the right path, especially where he is going."

__

"He may yet surprise you."

__

"Then in that case, I shall be glad to be wrong though I fear old age is making fools of us both lately!"

__

"Maybe another glass of that wine will make us feel less foolish?"

__

"I doubt it, but it’s worth a try."

__  



	2. Commander of the Grey

# Chapter 1 – Commander of the Grey

_Vigil’s Keep, Year 9:40 Dragon_

At last, the report concerning the unusual darkspawn activity in Ferelden was complete!

Maker knows it had taken Ellanne Amell, Warden Commander of Ferelden almost two hours to compile and cross-reference all the information received from the Warden Scouts and then another hour on top of that putting pen to parchment in order set it all down just so the First Warden could glance at it, shove it onto his desk with the rest of the reports he never seemed to read and then probably forget about it. 

If she didn’t know any know better, Ellanne would swear he was doing it just to punish her for her part contributing to the recent events in Kirkwall, but of course the First Warden was far above such petty behaviour and would in no way put the importance of his own reputation ahead of the age-old recruitment practices of the Grey Wardens.

No, really…

With a heavy sigh, Ellanne dipped her quill-pen into the inkwell on her desk and then hovered over the report, poised to sign her name before sealing it with wax. However as the quill moved over the parchment, it spat out a dark indigo blob of ink directly into the middle of neatly written report which resulted in her knocking over a half-empty wine goblet as she reached for a blotter, the partial contents of which mixed with the wet ink and then spread out all over the entire thing making all but the first few lines just about illegible.

A calming voice in the back of her mind tried to reassure her that it was only a report and she could simply copy it out again using the copious notes she’d made, but today she chose to ignore that voice and instead angrily scrunched the whole thing up into a tight ball and then hurl it to the floor with a snarl. It was followed shortly afterwards by the inkwell, the goblet and the rest of the wine, the remainder of her evening meal along with the plate it had been served on and all the notes that she had so painstakingly put together so that she could write the damn report in the first place.

Anger immediately gave way to regret as the spilled ink and wine now began to soak into the aged floorboards of her quarters and creep towards the tasselled rug in front of the fire.

Oh, great.

After spending a few moments frantically searching for the piece of ragged cloth Ellanne usually kept for wiping away dewy condensation from the windows, she quickly dunked it into the basin of tepid wash water on her dresser, dropped to her knees and started trying to clear up the mess before it permanently stained everything it came into contact with. Unfortunately, all she seemed to succeed in doing was to dilute the mixture even further and send it spreading ever outward at an extremely alarming rate, turning everything it came into contact with a particularly interesting shade of violet and that included her hands...

“Andraste’s saggy tits!”

Scowling as she furiously scrubbed at the floorboards, Ellanne felt a deeply unpleasant knot of tension began to twist inside her and all too quickly, it turned into bitter frustration as the ink stubbornly refused to be contained. Suddenly and with all the physical effort she could muster, the soggy cloth was sent flying across the room to splat rather unceremoniously on the wall above her armour stand before dropping down with a plop onto the shining pauldrons beneath.

Well that was fan-bloody-tastic. 

Now there was even more of a mess and instead of just cleaning up a spill on the floor, Ellanne would have to spend another hour or so rubbing a fresh oil cloth over her armour to stop the watery indigo liquid from leaving unpleasant streaks in the expensive, custom made drakeskin hide of her Grey Warden armour. Yes, she could probably take it to the armoury and no doubt Wade would be able to sort it out, but imagining the look on his face as she tried to explain away just how she’d managed to get ink all over it in the first place was enough to stop that particular carriage of thought from running through to action town.

No, to save face and avoid a lecture on how to take better care of her armour, she’d have to do it herself tonight after rewriting the bloody report.

Though just how she was supposed to rewrite without ink was anybody’s guess. 

And just why exactly was she so annoyed and frustrated anyway?

And for how long could she keep kidding herself that this pathetic display wasn’t all about Anders and really was just about screwing up a routine report and spilling ink on the hardwood floor?

There, she’d admitted it. 

It was Anders, a fellow Circle mage, Grey Warden and up until recently, one of her dearest friends that was the real reason that everything seemed so intense right now.

“Maker’s breath, Anders. What have you done...?”

Sitting back on her heels, Ellanne finally succumbed to the overwhelming emotions that she had been struggling to contain since she received word from her fellow Wardens in Kirkwall that Anders, whom she had personally recruited into the Grey Warden order had used the most powerful and destructive magic to raze the Chantry of Kirkwall to the ground, causing not only the deaths of the Grand Cleric and her followers, but also killing and injuring many of the innocent civilians who were caught up in the blast. Not only that, though it was bad enough, but his actions had been the catalyst in starting the war between mages, templars and the Chantry that was currently raging across all areas of the Free Marches and Ferelden and it unchecked, was likely to tear the whole of Thedas apart. 

She doubted even an Archdemon could not have caused such devastation in one attack… 

Anger, pain and guilt all warred within her as she tried to reconcile the memory of the flirty, irrepressible mage she’d first met all those years ago with the description of a murderous maleficar that was being circulated by the Chantry and Templars set on hunting him down and bringing him to justice. It just didn’t seem possible that it could be the same person that had fought alongside her and put his life on the line for others more than once, especially during the darkspawn attack on Amarathine. 

Yes, okay when she had first encountered him Anders had been standing over the bodies of a couple of templars who appeared to have been burned to death, but at the time he had protested his innocence, blaming the attacking darkspawn horde and explaining that he was just another apostate on the run from what he considered to be a suffocating existence within Kinloch Hold, the same Ferelden Circle of Magi where she had learned her craft. Though initially doubtful of his claims, Ellanne had been willing to give him the benefit of a doubt and eventually his easy-going manner and warm, friendly nature more than convinced her he had been telling the truth. His willingness to fight at her side as the darkspawn threatened to overwhelm Vigil’s Keep only reinforced her belief that he was a genuinely good man, and as the tide of battle slowly turned in their favour, it was Anders’ considerable abilities as a Spirit Healer that kept many of the Wardens and civilians of the Keep from succumbing to their wounds that day. 

Soon after the battle, a templar had arrived along with a contingent of Ferelden soldiers led by none other than Alistair Theirin, also one of her dearest friends, a former Grey Warden and as it happened, King of Ferelden! Whereas Alistair had journeyed to the Keep to see first-hand the situation faced by the Grey Wardens, the templar, a certain Ser Rylock had only been interested in arresting Anders and escorting him back to Kinloch Hold to face charges as an apostate. The imperious manner in which she demanded that Ellanne surrender him into her custody suggested she held not only obvious disdain for Anders, but for all mages and it must have been so galling to have to ask this from a Warden Commander of Ferelden who happened to be yet another mage! However the look on her face when Ellanne refused to give him up and instead chose to conscript Anders into the Wardens was just priceless and with Alistair providing his full support by deferring to Ellanne’s authority in the matter, it had to be said that Rylock’s face was a particularly interesting shade of purple as she turned on her heel and stormed out of the Keep. 

Ellanne was sad that Alistair was unable to stay for the joining ceremonies that evening as it had been far too long since they last spent any time together as comrades or as friends, but looking back on it and as valued as his sword-arm would have been in the events that followed, it would not have been right to expose the King to such danger or expose him to the political impact of the difficult choice she herself would soon have to make. 

When the darkspawn horde had attacked again at night, this time it had been on two fronts and swelling their ranks were the ‘Children’, the twisted, wretched Hurlock progeny of a crazed brood-mother. On top of that, a darkspawn emissary calling itself ‘The Architect’ had offered to lead his force of self-aware darkspawn against these more mindless, savage kin and if the implications of that was not enough to worry about, Ellanne soon found herself facing a decision, the consequences of which had haunted her ever since.

To save the Warden Stronghold of Vigil’s Keep and its inhabitants from slaughter, she was forced to abandon the city of Amaranthine. 

Strategically speaking, it was the only real choice Ellanne had, but that still hadn’t made it any easier to live with when she had sat amongst the rubble of what had once been family homes and thriving businesses, looking out over the charred, half-eaten bodies of the dead civilians that had once looked to the Wardens for their protection but instead had been left defenseless as the darkspawn had swept through the city. There was not enough fresh air in the world to overcome the sickly-sweet stench of decay and the acrid tang of burned flesh. Nothing she saw would ever erase the sight of all that destruction, the hellish vision of a city all but obliterated and its people reduced to so much meat. The fate of Amaranthine would always be an open wound in her heart, a black cancerous sore that would forever cause her pain and a reminder of those she simply could not save. 

That day though, after the battle it had been Anders who had found her there, pondering her decision and trying to hide the bitter tears that flowed down her cheeks amongst the heavy raindrops that were pouring from the skies as if the Maker himself was grieving. At his approach, Ellanne had tried to pretend that everything was fine and that as a Commander of the Grey she was prepared to take full responsibility for her decision and accepted that she had done what had to be done. However, the tender-hearted mage had seen right through her protests of duty and responsibility and simply gathered her up into his arms as what remained of her resolve crumbled and held her as she gave in to grief, softly stroking her hair and whispering words of comfort as they wept together.

It was the first time she had ever allowed herself to be held like that since ending her relationship with Zevran Arainai, possibly the most infamous elven assassin in all of Antiva. In some ways they were very much alike, Anders and Zev. Both were incorrigibly flirtatious, both lacked any respect for authority and established order and both were very, very sure of themselves. But where her relationship with Zevran had most certainly been of a more intimate nature, her relationship with Anders was built on shared experience and understanding and it grew into a comfortable, uncomplicated friendship. 

After the Siege of Vigil’s Keep, Ellanne had been called to Weisshaupt Fortress in the Anderfels to deliver her report on the troubling practices used by the Architect to ‘awaken’ the darkspawn under his control. Not exactly relishing the prospect of such a long journey across that bleak, arid landscape, it had been to Ellanne’s relief that Anders was also to accompany her, ostensibly to validate her account of the new darkspawn threat but also because the order needed tutors to train the new recruits and Grey Warden mages were not as numerus as their more martially skilled brothers and sisters. Almost immediately, Anders excelled in the post and was incredibly popular with the younger members of the Order. They responded well to his unorthodox style of teaching, and his quick wit and ready smile ensured he was popular and well liked. With each passing day it seemed as if he’d finally found some purpose and contentment in his life and for a while, everything was as it should be.

However, despite appearances the truth was that Anders was becoming increasingly uncomfortable with his role and responsibilities and his resentment of the way mages and apostates were treated both within and away from the various Circles of Magi scattered throughout Thedas was increasing day by day. His life, it seems had fallen into what he considered to be a rather repetitious and increasingly boring routine and he felt he was not making any significant difference to the lives of the young mages he encountered. Added to that was the knowledge that if the darkspawn rose again, he or any of his students could be called upon to willingly give up their lives in defence of those who on any other day would shy away from mages as if they brought about the Blight themselves! Ellanne had heartily agreed with him in that mages were generally treated unfairly and often demonised, but she didn’t share all of Anders’ opinions on the subject as their experiences in Kinloch Hold had been very different. 

To hear Anders describe it, the Circle had been a hell of oppression and imprisonment which tore families apart and removed all semblance of freedom but to her, Ellanne had treasured those years under the tutelage of First Enchanter Irving and revelled in the study of magic where she was allowed to grow and blossom into the mage she was today without having to worry about whether her neighbours thought she was an abomination! Sadly those like herself who specialised in Entropic magic were often looked on with suspicion by the Chantry and the non-magically inclined alike, hells, even some of her fellow apprentices were uncomfortable with it, but the freedom to actually practice in the safety of the Circle had been something wonderful. Yes, there were times when there would be friction with the templars stationed in the Hold, but then again it was to be expected when any large group of individuals were together in close quarters. 

Saying that, Ellanne had actually agreed with Anders that things did need to change as although establishing the Circles did provide mages with a safe environment to learn and practice their art, keeping them essentially shut away from the rest of the world under the watchful eyes of the templars did not exactly help other people to accept them as a normal part of society. Therefore, when a message arrived from First Enchanter Irving extending an invitation to a representative of the Grey Wardens to give a lecture on the nature and deeds of the Architect to the mages, apprentices and templars of Kinloch Hold, Ellanne thought Anders would jump at the chance. Not only would it be a chance to get away from Weisshaupt for a while but it would also provide him with an opportunity to speak to Irving about his concerns for the mages in his care and in Circles elsewhere, perhaps starting a dialogue that would lead to serious discussions about reforms that could change the lives of mages and apostates everywhere. It would be a slow difficult process, but it had to start somewhere and she was more than happy to support Anders in this. 

Given the depth of his frustration and resentment, she should not have been surprised when he outright refused. 

Shock at his response had quickly turned to anger as they argued back and forth on mage rights and the politics of change until finally, Ellanne had simply drawn herself up in her chair and stated coldly ‘You have your orders.’ He had looked at her then with such evident hurt on his face that she almost wavered, but duty had to come first. ‘You will do this and then you will report back to Weisshaupt Fortress so we can reassess matters and see where your talents may be put to more practical use. You have to remember that politics simply have no place in Grey Wardens.’

‘Then maybe neither do I.’

Anders had said the words quietly, throwing them back over his shoulder as he walked out of the room without so much as a backward glance. Perhaps with hindsight, Ellanne should have suspected then that he intended to desert. She should have stopped him, gone after him and tried to talk some sense into the man she had called friend, but anger had stilled her tongue in her mouth and his ideas unsettled her more than he realised. There had been so much truth in what he said, but she couldn’t admit it back then.

Maker forgive her…could she even admit it to herself now?

“Damn it, Anders!” Ellanne snarled as she drove her fist into the wooden floor. “What in the hells am I supposed to do now!”

“Excuse me, Commander. Are you alright?” 

Jumping quickly to her feet, Ellanne span around to see a familiar figure standing in her open doorway. 

“Bloody hell, Nathaniel! Must you sneak up on people like that?”

Shifting uncomfortably as he took in the scene before him, Nathaniel Howe shrugged and offered her a sympathetic smile. “I did knock, several times in fact, but I’m guessing this a bad time?”

“Yes…no...well, not really.” Ellanne coloured as she tried unsuccessfully to wipe her hands clean on her robe. Deliberately avoiding his concerned gaze, she glanced around the room for the crumpled parchment she’d been working on earlier and then nodded toward it. “I suppose you’re here to collect the reports? I have to be honest, this one might be a little late.”

Nathaniel strode over to it and held it carefully between his thumb and forefinger as it dripped onto the floor. “Not to mention a little damp by the look of it.”

“Stick it near the fire. It’ll dry.”

Nathaniel’s eyebrows raised as he carefully unfolded the document. “Um, forgive me Commander but you do realise the First Warden won’t be able to read this?”

“It’s a routine report.” Ellanne sighed, waving her hand dismissively. “He never reads them anyway and leaves the actual running of the Grey Wardens to his Commanders. No, he’s only interested in anything that might affect his own precious reputation…”

Taking the soggy report from Nathaniel, she walked over to the fire and set it on top of the mantlepiece, securing it with a heavy candlestick. Feeling suddenly drained and tired beyond words, she dropped into one of two chairs near the hearth and then reached into a pocket inside her robes and pulled out a letter. The broken wax seal carried the First Warden’s personal sigil and she handed it to Nathaniel.

“Read it.”

The Warden Scout reached out hesitantly and then at Ellanne’s invitation, sat down in the chair opposite and quickly scanned the contents before handing it back to her. “Anders, I see. They’re sending you then. I can’t say I’m surprised, but I am sorry.”

“Don’t be. I volunteered.” She sighed and then rolled her eyes before continuing in a highly imperious tone. “As Warden Commander it is my duty to seek out those who have broken their oaths and abandoned their responsibilities, before they become a danger to themselves and others. More importantly we have to be sure this disgrace does not damage the reputation and good standing of Wardens throughout Thedas and reflect ill on the senior officers.”

Nathaniel recognised the impression and snorted. “The First Warden actually said that?”

“More or less.” Ellanne replied, taking up an iron poker and stirring up the embers of the fire. “Though I think we’re way beyond the danger to others bit.”

“So it would seem.” 

Nathaniel fell quiet as Ellanne sighed again and held her head in her hands. The former assassin knew her well enough to leave her to gather her thoughts and she was grateful for his patient silence as she waited for the hard lump in her throat to dissipate, and frustrated tears to disappear from her burning eyes.  
In truth, he had known Anders just as long as she had and fought alongside them both during the siege at Vigil’s Keep. He had defended him when his rebellious ideas brought him into conflict with other former Circle mages in the Wardens and Maker knows, this must have hurt him almost as much as it hurt her to find out that the man they thought they knew so well had just up and left the Wardens without a word and almost single-handedly started a war between mages and templars that was tearing the country apart. 

“I can’t believe he did this.” She eventually groaned, drawing strength from the rogue’s stoic presence. “I mean he was always rather vocal about his beliefs, but to actively murder people…I don’t know. It just doesn’t seem like him.”

“Maybe it’s not.” Nathaniel said softly, a strange look on his face. “I’ve heard things, rumours mostly, that he is now an abomination of sorts.”

“What?” Ellanne’s head shot up and she stared at him in disbelief. “You’re telling me that Anders has succumbed to a demon?”

Nathaniel solemnly shook his head and his face grew dark. “No Commander, not a demon.” He swallowed hard and then looked at her intently. “My sources tell me that Anders carries within himself a powerful spirit, but it is a much changed thing than we knew. You recall the spirit we once knew as Justice?”

Ellanne felt her stomach lurch. “Justice? As in the good spirit that possessed Kristoff’s dead body, Justice?” 

“The very same…I think.” He shrugged uncertainly. “In truth, I do not really understand such things but from what I hear, Anders willingly invited the spirit to join with him and the two of them, um bonded? I don’t know.”

Ellanne shakily rose to her feet and began to pace about the room. “But Justice was a good spirit, honourable and noble. He’d never willingly have let Anders do these things or approved of the murder of innocents. It goes against everything he stood for.”

“Apparently not anymore.” Nathaniel frowned and bade her take a seat once more. “In taking Justice into himself, it seems that both Anders and the spirit were changed in ways that neither of them could have imagined. In the joining it seems that Anders’ anger and frustration combined with Justice’s sense of what should be and they became something new, somehow merged together so completely that there is no longer Anders the Healer and Justice the Spirit but one whole being, single-minded of purpose and driven to act in defence of all mages that are hurt, oppressed or enslaved. Anders is vengeance and he has but one goal.”

“To end templar oppression and free all mages from the tyranny of the Chantry?!” Ellanne flashed Nathaniel a sad smile. “I’m a mage too remember? I’ve read Anders’ manifesto and can’t say I didn’t agree with most of it, but this…this beyond any rational act. Violence like this will drive people away from the negotiating tables, not inspire them to take a seat and work it out.”

“And such things inevitably lead to yet more violence.” Nathaniel face darkened. “Supporters are encouraged to act in a similarly aggressive manner to try and make their voices heard whilst opponents seek to retaliate and silence those voices, citing the fear and destruction caused by conflict as justification in and of itself. In doing what he did, Anders has not only divided the mages of Thedas into those who believe in what he is doing and those who oppose him, but even the Chantry is falling apart with divisions among the clergy and the templar order.”

Ellanne nodded. “I have heard as much from First Enchanter Irving. He wrote to me not long ago saying that both he and Knight Commander Greagoir were facing increasing pressure from both within and without the Circle to bring about changes that would likely result in the whole place coming apart at the seams. If not for Alistair…if not for the intervention of the King, then things would certainly have deteriorated fast.”

“As they are likely to throughout Thedas.”

“Shit...”

A chill wind had begun to blow outside, howling up at the mountains like the roar of a mighty dragon. A sudden gust caused the flames in the hearth to leap up and the logs in the grate began to crackle and spit like an angry cat.

Just like Ser Pouncealot when confronted by a genlock. 

Only Anders would ever have taken a kitten into the Deep Roads…

“I have to find him.” Ellanne said suddenly, and with a certainty she knew had been there since she first received the letter. “I have to find him and bring him back before the templars catch up with him, otherwise who knows what will happen.”

“After everything that’s already happened so far, I dread to think.” Rising slowly to his feet, Nathaniel pulled out a note from his pocket. “Here. This is the name and address of the source I was referring to earlier.”

She read the words aloud. “Varric Tethras, The Hanged Man, Lowtown, Kirkwall?” 

He nodded. “He is…was… a friend of Anders’ while he was living there, and may be able to help point you in the right direction.” 

Ellanne nodded and extended her hand. “Thank you, Nathaniel.”

The former rogue clasped it warmly and then pulled her into a rough embrace. “Be careful, Commander. This whole thing is another powder keg waiting to go off, and with you being a mage and all…”

“I’ll be careful.” Ellanne reassured him and clapped him fondly on the back. “You know, I think I preferred facing the Blight to hunting a friend, but then again I suppose things can’t get any worse.”

“I should say not.” Nathaniel smiled warmly and then turned to go. As he neared the door, he turned and paused. “Oh, I nearly forgot. You may wish to call in on the acting Knight Commander while you’re in Kirkwall. He’s been busy trying to hold the city together until the issue of a new Viscount has been settled, but he may have some leads on Anders’ whereabouts.”

Ellanne raised a dubious eyebrow. “While I’m sure he wouldn’t object to being visited by the Commander of the Grey, the fact that she’s a mage may be a little like rubbing salt in the wound, don’t you think?”

“You need not worry, Commander.” Nathaniel said as he placed his hand on the latch of the door. “I’ve heard that Ser Cullen is much more grounded than his over-zealous predecessor.”

“Ser Cullen…Cullen Rutherford? He’s the acting Knight Commander in Kirkwall?” 

“That’s correct. I wondered if you may have encountered him before as he was stationed at Kinloch Hold for a time…” A bell chimed loudly in the high tower and Nathaniel groaned. “Ah forgive me but I really should see the Warden Chief Scout. The darkspawn are on the move again beneath Kal Hirol and I must make my report. ‘Til next we meet Commander, a goodnight to you.”

“And to you.” Ellanne said softly. “Take care, Nathaniel.”

As the heavy door finally closed behind him, Ellanne’s mind was already plucking at the strings of her memory like a bard playing a lute and surprisingly, the melancholy song of Ser Cullen was as haunting now as it had been in her youth.  
________________________________________  
_**Ferelden Circle of Magi, Kinloch Hold, twelve years ago…**_

_It is an unfortunate truth that the study of magic is laden with many dangers. Senior Enchanters and mage tutors are all too aware that a single mistake or lapse in judgement can have disastrous consequences, and demonic possession and blood magic are a significant threat to all apprentices and mages whether trained or not. The sad fact is that stamping out such things requires a certain amount of vigilance, and this vigilance was most keenly observed by those templars serving in the garrisons of Mage Circles throughout Thedas._

_Often it led to friction between these armoured knights of the Chantry and their young mage charges and some of templars saw only demons and abominations in the face of every mage, just as some of the mages saw only religious fanaticism and self-righteous judgement on the face of every templar. It was not an ideal situation and tensions in the tower could sometimes build to uncomfortable levels, but during those times First Enchanter Irving would step in and remind everyone that tolerance and acceptance were as important skills to learn as mana control._

_As a student of both the entropic and spirit schools of magic, Ellanne Amell often found herself exercising her tolerance and acceptance as a decided absence of it seemed to flow her way. The desire to learn how to properly recite the words needed for a particularly potent hex, or to cast a walking bomb spell so that it became virulent and infected others, was not something that had been easily understood by her even her fellow apprentices, and aside from Jowan and a few other close friends, they usually kept a wary distance. Those that followed the primal school thought such magic was dark and insidious, and the apprentice healers of the creation school thought it was only one small step away from the reviled and forbidden blood magic. Almost every day she would hear her detractors whispering behind her back…_

_Mind witch._

_Hex Queen._

_Necromancer._

_Not to mention the other less inventive names._

_A part of her could understand that their hostility came from ignorance. The tutors had explained that most people feared that which they did not understand, and magic-users were no different from any other person in that respect. But it still hurt sometimes, and now that Jowan was having additional training, she more often than not found herself left alone with only her spellbooks for company._

_Well, maybe not entirely alone…_

_Heavy armoured footsteps echoed in the tower library as the templar made his usual rounds. He was tall, well-built and there was something about him that made her feel like a shy school-girl every time she saw him. With his copper-tinged golden hair and bright hazel eyes, he always seemed to be around when she sought seclusion in a quiet room to read or to study her craft and his presence set her heart to fluttering like a butterfly trapped in a jar. She used to live for the moments when they would meet in the corridors, secretively smiling if she chanced to catch his eye or blushing furiously if she accidentally brushed against him as he passed._

_At first it was easy to dismiss her emotions as a simple reaction to his literal closeness, a childish crush if you will on an undeniably handsome man. Yet sometimes when she was alone, her pulse would race at the thought of him and then her mind would wander into territory that was considerably more intimate and passionate in nature than mere contemplation of his visage! Fortunately, study and the practice of magic occupied most of her waking hours but at night before she drifted into sleep, more often than not her subconscious mind would tease her with fantasies about Ser Cullen that were as unsettling as they were exciting._

_Time passed, as it always does, and a simple greeting spoken on what had been a warm, sunny day opened the doorway to conversation at last. It was no longer just a case of shy acknowledgment as they moved through the tower and now they both actively sought each other out so they could spend time walking in the tower gardens or engaged in easy conversations in the central hall. Of course, keeping to such public areas meant some of the other apprentices had started to notice their friendship and would frequently comment to one another that at last, the poor witch had an admirer…_

_Only when they knew she was near enough to overhear of course._

_However, such careless gossip had the potential to cause serious problems for them both and herself if either the Senior Enchanters or Templar officers suspected improper behaviour on their part and Maker knows, it was already so hard to hide the growing attraction Ellanne felt toward Cullen not just physically, but also on a deeper, more emotional level._

_Perhaps it was rather foolishly that she had suggested meeting elsewhere, far away from the prying eyes and wagging tongues that could easily end up costing them their friendship if not more. At first, the shady nooks of the Circle courtyard became a place of retreat and when duties and study had no claim on their time, they would play chess together, sat in competitive yet companionable silence. In the end Cullen always complimented her on her winning strategies with a smile that made her heart melt, but it was here that the eyes of his fellow templars fell upon them, now watching closely, suspicious perhaps that somehow, she had bewitched him. It was then she had suggested meeting in one of the many unused storerooms in the top of the oldest part of the tower. After all, if there was no one around to observe their meetings, then no-one could get the wrong idea._

_Oh, the folly of bad decisions made with such good intentions…_

_She could still see him as clearly now as she had that night. Even in the cramped, dusty room, he looked like a knight from the old tales with the moonlight gleaming off his shining armour and his handsome face, slightly flushed from climbing the many stairs that led up to their small place of sanctuary. His muscular frame was evident even beneath the steel plating he habitually wore, and the way he held his head as he looked about showed off his smooth cheekbones, strong chin and firm jaw. When his eyes fell upon her, her heart skipped a beat and as she approached, he held out a massive gauntleted hand and gently took hold of hers, before lifting it to his lips._

_The gesture had both thrilled and shaken her._

_Without a single word spoken, they had sat together upon an old chaise, awkwardness returning as they realised that this was the first time they had been truly, completely alone. When they sought to banish that awkwardness with conversation something was different, as if the words they shared were just inanities for sake of filling a silence that was already overflowing with something else, something incredibly potent and utterly overwhelming. Whether intended or not, they had both drawn closer and closer together as spoken words became hushed whispers and it was not until she felt Cullen’s breath upon her cheek that she realised the danger, but it was too late._

_Hesitantly his lips brushed across her own and Ellanne was overcome with such feeling that it made her heart pound achingly deep within her chest. Reaching her arms around his neck, she returned his kisses hungrily as he pulled her closer, almost crushing her against the hard steel of his breastplate and all she wanted was to lose herself in his embrace and surrender to the raw passion and emotion of the moment.  
It surprised her then to suddenly find herself pulling away from him._

_“We can’t…”_

_Looking hurt and confused, Cullen reached out to her with a questioning gaze, but Ellanne knew she would be damning them both if she gave in to her feelings for him. Whatever childish, selfish notions of a secret fairy-tale romance she held, she could not see him clapped in irons and sent Maker knows where because he had got caught in an illicit relationship with a mage. As for herself, she could only imagine what would happen when the First Enchanter found out and there were some punishments that were just too terrifying to contemplate, especially for a mage thought not to be in control._

_No, it had to end before it began. No matter how much it hurt._

_Of course, Cullen had said he understood and perhaps he did but from then on, he kept a respectful distance and their friendship became one of cool politeness and passing acquaintance. Gone was the warmth from his eyes, and gone was the gentle smile that used to make her heart ache. Instead there was only a melancholy air about him and a sense that he regretted their friendship and that it pained him to even speak with her._

_And so once again, Ellanne threw herself into her studies and any spare time she had, she shared with Jowan or with one of the few apprentices she could call friend. She became a diligent pupil, studious and dedicated, and decided that her commitment to magic must come before any other kind of commitment, romantic or otherwise. She would study hard, work hard, successfully pass her Harrowing and become the mage she had always hoped to be._

_At the end of the day, it was all she had left…_  
________________________________________

Ellanne sighed heavily and wondered if the Maker got some perverse pleasure in thrusting Cullen Rutherford back into her life yet again. Maybe the gods really did hate mages? 

Already she had encountered him once more after leaving the Circle to join the Grey Wardens. During the Blight when the Circle was overrun with demons and abominations, he had been trapped in the Harrowing Chamber and subjected to what she could only guess was the most degrading and unspeakable torture, but finding that his memories of her had been used against him affected her more than she cared to admit.

And this gave her pause for thought…

Now that so much time had passed, now that it had been over ten years since they last looked upon each other, how would he react on seeing her?  
Certainly she had moved on with her life, helping to end a civil war, defeating the Blight and becoming a Commander of the Grey and obviously Cullen was doing rather well now himself, although ending up acting Knight Commander of Kirkwall probably wasn’t the greatest position in the world. Maybe he had forgotten her, it was so long ago after all and maybe he was content with his life now too, married with a wife of his own and half a dozen children who all loved him as much as he deserved. After all, Ellanne had gone on to build a relationship of sorts with Zevran, at least right up until the point they decided to part ways when the elven assassin had returned to Antiva.

Times changed and people changed, that was just the way it worked but she had to wonder, just how much would Cullen have changed? Would she still recognise that young templar who had almost stolen her heart? Would he still see in her the mage who had wanted to risk it all until the moment he realised she wouldn’t risk his life. 

So many questions were racing through her mind, and yet none of them were really concerned with the matter at hand…that of Anders.

Realising that she had let herself be side-tracked, Ellanne angrily pushed aside her thoughts and crossed to the dresser in the corner. If she was going to Kirkwall, she would need to travel light and fast. She could wear her armour and any additional clothing would need to be packed into the small backpack she always used for such journeys. The magical, bladed staff she carried could possibly be mistaken for a glaive usually carried by a warrior and that at least would give her a chance of not being recognised as a mage the moment she walked in through the gates. She had also already made arrangements to send ahead word of her visit to the office of the Viscount so that they would be prepared for the arrival of a senior Grey Warden in the city and…

“Bollocks.” She muttered under her breath. 

Gathering the last of her things, Ellanne Amell groaned as she realised the courier would almost be there by now, and the message he carried would no doubt reach Ser Cullen, rather matter-of-factly informing him that she was on her way.

Damn… 

She groaned again and hoped the impersonal nature of the missive would not mean the meeting was already off to a bad start before she even got there but then again, maybe this way at least they could both prepare for what was sure to be a somewhat interesting reunion.


	3. Chapter 2 - Knight-Commander

# Chapter 2 – Knight-Commander

The skies were cloudy over Kirkwall and the bitter wind blowing in from the Waking Sea lent a salty aftertaste to the frigid air. The great fires that burned in the braziers around the Gallows Courtyard crackled and danced as they fed hungrily upon the blackening logs, leaping high into the air as they fought against the pervading cold. Dutifully holding their positions at the southern gates, the templar guardsmen tried their best to stand tall and ignore the biting chill, but even they shivered against the brutal onslaught and no doubt their minds were preoccupied with thoughts of hot food and mulled wine.

As he watched the last remnants of the passing day disappearing into the horizon, Acting Knight-Commander Cullen Rutherford frowned and pulled hard on his gauntlets as he tried to flex some warmth back into his aching fingers. He failed to stifle a groan as the tinny sound of rain spattering against his armour preceded a small but fierce rainstorm, and he ducked into a nearby archway as it began to lash violently at the ground below. From this relatively sheltered position, Cullen observed his fellow templars standing stoically in place as the rain played a percussive melody upon their plate, and he made a mental note to ask the quartermaster to make sure that from now on they were all issued with new hide cloaks, oiled and waterproofed for use during the winter months. Although there was not much more warmth in the tough leather, it would manage to keep out most of rain and would at least offer some protection against the wind. After all, unlike their Knight-Commander, the men under his command did not have the luxury of seeking shelter when the weather turned foul.

Saying that, the weather here was no-where near as bad it had been in Ferelden. The cold there was enough to make a man's piss freeze in his bladder! Thinking back, there had been days when he had been out on the walkways at the top of the Circle Tower, when the driving snow had been so thick, he was unable to see his hand in front of his face. The last lookout of evening was always the duty that the younger templars dreaded, and Cullen had seemed to be stuck with it more often than not.

That was until he was assigned to the lower floors of course.

It took years of dedication to the martial and spiritual ideals of the Chantry before a templar was said to be ready to watch over the mages in his or her charge and the day that Greagoir had stationed him in the apprentice quarters of Kinloch Hold, Cullen had been filled with an immense sense of pride. It was a real testament to the Knight-Commander's faith in him that he was entrusted to watch over the young apprentices for any signs of blood magic or demonic influence and he had taken his responsibilities very seriously. 

What the mages lacked in discipline, they made up for in ability and they had to be closely watched to see that they did not become a danger to themselves or others. At first, the days had been pleasantly routine. The apprentices seemed to fall into two categories...those who thought that being a mage gave them free licence to act in ways that would have raised eyebrows in polite society, and those who were studious, eager to learn and spent most of their days with their heads in a book.

Ellanne Amell had been one of those students.

She had entered the Tower many years ago as a child and, if the gossip among the other templars was to be believed, she was already a powerful magic user. Her abilities in the entropic and death schools of magic had seen her rise to the top of her classes and earned her both the grudging respect of her seniors, and the wary envy of her peers. As the years passed, she became an accomplished student, and Greagoir had given orders that she was to be watched closely just in case the dark magic she practiced hid the shadowy presence of a demon, but he need not have worried. Amell was as dedicated to magic as Cullen was to the templar order and at first, it was her single-minded determination to strive to be the best that he admired so much.

Then it became so much more.

He wasn't certain when it happened, but very soon he began to notice the way her rich, dark hair glistened in the candlelight. Then it was the way she smiled at him when she passed him in the corridor and the way her hips swayed as she walked. On the face of it, it seemed to be nothing but a simple infatuation, but as time passed and they got to know one another, his feelings became stronger and it was harder to keep her from his thoughts. Even during the daily prayers, his mind was constantly wrenched from quiet contemplation of Andraste to the heated imaginings of things that should not be but it was also more than that.  
The simple truth was that he was falling in love with a mage.

He couldn’t be certain of course, but given that she seemed to actively seek out his company when she was not engrossed in her studies, he was fairly certain that she felt the same way. When she suggested they meet somewhere private, away from the scrutiny of the other templars and the gossiping mages, he felt as if the ideal opportunity had come along to express just how he felt about her but then again, things seldom work out as we hope. 

They’d arranged to meet in one of the old storerooms, high in the top of the tower. With the moonlight streaming in through high windows, she’d looked radiant, beautiful and before he knew it, they were lost to the passion of their first kiss, his heart beating thunderously against his breast. But then she’d pulled away from him, a look on her face that showed she was torn, uncertain of her actions or was it her feelings? She’d tried to explain, said it was for care of him that she didn’t want to continue but at the time he was unsure as he was a young man with a young man’s pride which is all too easily broken. He felt like such a fool and had been so wounded by her rejection that it was easier to believe she was at fault and that maybe she had bewitched him somehow. In trying to deal with that pain, it was more convenient to believe that magic was involved rather than to acknowledge the fact that she had been right about the risk to both of them and it was that stupid, selfish belief that had led Cullen down a dark path of his own.

He began to doubt everything when it came to magic, especially the words and intentions of those who practiced it. This deep-rooted suspicion led to mistrust, fear and eventually to an unwelcome hatred that threatened to consume his very being. To dull those feelings, he sought solace in the tenets of his faith and in the demands of his duty, often taking a few extra hours at night to contemplate the teachings of the Chantry, followed by a rigorous bout of early morning exercise in the training yard. It was just enough to clear his mind so that he could continue to function like the dedicated templar he wanted to be although it was also tiring and he probably should have been aware of the effect that losing so much sleep was having on his physical and mental state. At the time though, it seemed to be the only way forward.

And then one day, Ellanne was gone.

Not long after her Harrowing, she left Kinloch Hold and joined the ranks of the Grey Wardens. Though a part of him was desperately sad he would never see her again, another part of him was relieved at the idea that she would no longer be around so that maybe, he could finally get over her. He decided to try to rediscover the inner peace that he had only so recently lost, and the hard work and dedication he had already put into his daily routine, became his own personal armour against the influences of magic as his heart became hardened against those who might wield it against him. Time and determination saw him becoming what he perceived to be the perfect templar, and this was reflected in the wary looks that the mages now gave him. It was deceptively empowering knowing that he commanded that type of respect, and the mages anxiety around him served only to bolster that belief.

But then Uldred came.

Maker's breath…

Looking back now, it seemed like an eternity since he had watched Kinloch Hold fall to the evils of blood magic. The speed with which everything had descended into chaos was more frightening than he could ever have imagined. Seeing his fellow templars slaughtered or falling victim to the vile corruptions of beguiling demons and their bloodmage lap-dogs had been nothing less than a living nightmare. It had been bad enough seeing the men he'd known and trained with for years either murdered before his eyes or suddenly becoming frenzied killers themselves but watching them lose their minds to the hidden desires of their hearts was almost more than he could stand. It was as if years of training and devotion had been snuffed out in an instant, all for the madness of love and lust. Not so unlike the same madness he had struggled so hard to contain. 

Sadly, the parallels between their torment, and the torment in his own heart had been another reason it had become so easy to hate mages, and it was that same hate that began to burn at almost unbearable levels when Uldred took him prisoner and let his maleficarum turn their own tainted magic upon him. Almost hourly they taunted him, unashamedly coupling with each other and also with the horned, vile desire demons that took such pleasure in their twisted lyrium-fuelled orgies, often while wearing the semblance of Amell's face just to taunt him. How many times he’d seen her taken both willingly and unwillingly and each time it was as if a knife was being thrust into his heart. Sometimes they tried to use their magic to force him into unspeakable acts and yes, it had been so relentless that he had almost wanted to give in to their temptations but he had been strong and fought against it with every fibre of his mental and physical being. Ellanne would never have been so wanton and neither would Cullen give in to his desires as he was better than that. 

Nonetheless, the torment continued and every day he felt as if he had been violated in every way and it was only through sheer willpower that his mind held on to its tenuous grasp of reality, even as with every passing moment he could feel himself slipping away.

Then came a day when Senior Enchanter Wynne broke through to the Harrowing Chamber along with Ellanne Amell, a tall knight in plate armour and an elf with golden hair. She said she was there to free them all from the nightmare, but he could not believe the evidence of his own eyes. Ellanne was here? It was just not enough simply to see her and believe that his deliverance was at hand as her very image was now a part of the filth and corruption that had entered his heart and twisted his thoughts. He remembered making a shameful confession to her, speaking of his tormented desires and how she could not tempt him into further acts of degradation. Only when her knightly companion spoke of pity for him with such sincerity did he realise she was truly standing before him. Of course it was her, could it be otherwise? Despite everything going on around them, Ellanne had appeared even more beautiful and confidant than he remembered. He could still see her even now, bold and fearless as she climbed the stairs to the Harrowing chamber even after he had pleaded with her to kill the remaining mages and end it all. She chose instead to ignore his words and opted to try and save not only the lives of his fellow templars, but also those surviving mages who were being held prisoner by the despised maleficarum and in truth, how could he have expected anything else from her. But at the time he had been so broken and tormented by the agonies he had suffered at the hands of magic-users, it seemed to defy comprehension that she was even willing to take such a risk and readily sacrifice the safety of others for the sake of few more mages who were probably already abominations by now.

Of course she had won the day, not only defeating Uldred, his demons and the maleficarum, but also saving First Enchanter Irving and the other senior mages being held prisoner. As she escorted the exhausted First Enchanter down from the Chamber to meet with Knight-Commander Greagoir, Cullen had found himself following on behind suspiciously watching the old man intently for any signs of possession or intended evil. No one else seemed to be concerned about the potential for danger that still remained as long as the exposed mages remained alive and it was as if the events of the past few days counted for nothing, but for him it was still all too real.

Afterwards, things did not exactly improve.

The nights were the worst. For months after surviving the horrors that were unleashed upon Kinloch hold, Cullen would often wake screaming and drenched in a hot sweat. Each time he closed his eyes, he could see not only the wretched face of Uldred and his minions, but his dreams were also haunted by visions of Ellanne Amell, twisting and writhing as she beckoned to him in lustful abandon, only to become the soulless form of a desire demon mocking him with her shrill laughter. It became so bad that on some nights he could not tell if he was awake or not, and it was only when he felt the reassuring coldness of the stone floor beneath his feet that he could be certain he was free of the nightmare.

However, he was still a templar and despite all his difficulties, it was his duty to continue to serve the Chantry and watch over the mage apprentices of the Circle.

Once more, he found himself observing those mages in his charge. Every whispered conversation seemed to hide a secret meaning, each late-night meeting represented a possible gathering of maleficarum and from the way the apprentices looked at him now, Cullen was becoming more and more certain that there was still a great evil within Kinloch Hold. Greagoir had said that he was becoming paranoid and that his experiences with Uldred were affecting his mind, but Cullen had been so lost in the depths of his own inner turmoil that the words fell upon deaf ears.

Then, just as he was beginning to wonder if the Knight-Commander had the truth of it after all, he made a discovery that seemed to reinforce all his worst fears and suspicions.

There were three of them, young, foolish and inexperienced. Each one an apprentice only recently brought to the tower to begin their training. Whether it was the whispered promises of a demon, the temptation of power or simply the fact that they were not as experienced as some of the younger mages who had been there longer, the three had turned to blood magic to enhance their abilities. He didn't even remember exactly how he found them, only that their desperate protests of feigned innocence seemed only to enrage him further as he slid his steely blade from its scabbard…

The horror that followed was better left to drift in the river of memory, though to this day it haunted him still.

Soon after the incident and following his last meeting in Kinloch hold with Knight-Commander Greagoir and First Enchanter Irving, Cullen found himself sailing across the Waking Sea bound for Kirkwall docks. Greagoir had told him that he was to serve under Knight-Commander Meredith in the Gallows, the home of the Kirkwall Circle of Magi. At first, it had seemed like he was being given an opportunity that he didn't deserve. He had heard that Meredith was a strong and capable templar, a proud warrior who had risen quickly through the ranks to achieve a position equal to that of Viscount Dumar himself. Further to that, if the rumours were true, it was actually Meredith who made all the important decisions in Kirkwall, with Dumar nothing more than a glorified diplomat acting on her behalf.

He could still recall his first meeting with her. There was a natural aloofness to the Knight-Commander that was emphasised by her cold, hard appearance. Her eyes were a chilling blue that seemed to look right into the depths of his soul and her hair was white-blond almost to the point of being colourless. She seemed to wear an expression of perpetual disdain, though Cullen could only guess what was going on inside that calculating mind of hers, and when she spoke it was as if the world stopped to listen, so great was the aura of respect that she commanded.

Still, she had welcomed him warmly enough and had been very interested to hear his account of the events that had led to his expulsion from the Circle in Ferelden. At first, he had felt ashamed recounting the story of his personal failures, but as he told her of Uldred and of the tortures he had suffered at the hands of such a madman, Meredith's face had become utterly unreadable and her questioning ceased as she listened in contemplative silence. The only emotion she had showed was when he told her of his murder of the three young Blood Mages in recent past. Then her eyes had glittered like aquamarines, and she had risen from her chair and laid a reassuring hand upon his shoulder.

_'You should never consider such true and worthy action as murder. You acted as a true Templar and did your duty both by the order, and by the teachings of Andraste herself. Never feel ashamed of doing what is right, Ser Cullen. You are everything a templar should be and I foresee a great future ahead of you here in Kirkwall. A great future indeed.'_

At first, her words had stunned him and he had simply stared open mouthed as a comforting smile played across her pale lips, but then her veil of indifference had been drawn once more and she dismissively assigned him to the company of Knight-Captain Marrks.

Marrks had been a real taskmaster, and some even said that he was cruel though at the time, Cullen thought it was just that he was hard and did not suffer fools, or mages, gladly. Each day he would see that the templars under his command were routinely drilled in the arts of combat and in the teachings of the Chantry. He also ensured that they were made aware of the dangers of magic, and that every templar knew that a mage was nothing more than a potential threat, and should be watched and controlled as much as possible. To Cullen's recovering mind, Marrks's disciplinarian approach to duty and the extreme beliefs that he apparently shared with none other than the Knight-Commander herself, seemed to make so much sense that he found himself embracing this new approach to the treatment of mages, and began to wonder if it was the lack of such draconian measures that had led to the fall of Kinloch Hold.

Every day when new mages arrived at the Gallows they were questioned and assessed not only by the First Enchanter, a pale skinned elf by the name of Orsino, but by the templars set to guard them just in case they were trying to hide something that could pose a threat to themselves or others. When an apostate was brought before the Circle, no mercy was shown to them as had often been the way in Ferelden. Here, they were brought directly before Meredith and Orsino and were judged for their crimes without any hesitation whatsoever. If Meredith found that they were repentant and did not appear to pose a threat to others, then she would grudgingly surrender them into the charge of Orsino to be forcibly admitted into the Kirkwall Circle. If they did not show any signs of regret, or expressed nothing but contempt and disrespect to their captors, then the apostates would be made tranquil. There was no appeal.

So, life continued and Cullen threw himself into his duties, discovering new purpose with the templars of Kirkwall. Back in Ferelden, the Blight that had been ravaging the country had eventually been ended by none other than Ellanne Amell herself, now made Warden-Commander and she had gained the acceptance and gratitude of a nation and earned the title, Hero of Ferelden. It had made him smile to think of her doing so well but when he heard that she had taken a lover, the golden elf from the tower who was apparently an Antivan former assassin, he could not ignore the momentary pang of jealously that stabbed into his heart. Still, it did not hurt as much as it once did and so he was able to wish her happiness and move on with his own life.

Cullen continued to impress his superiors with his diligence and devotion to duty and he was soon rewarded with the rank and responsibility his actions deserved. Everything seemed to be falling into place and he was even no longer haunted by the events of the past. However, by the time he had reached the rank of Knight Lieutenant, things began to change once more.

Recently some of his subordinates in the order had begun to question the integrity of Knight-Captain Marrks and ask Cullen whether he truly believed that Marrks was doing the work of Andraste or simply hated mages and all things magic. There had been concerns he raised that he was abusing his position to oppress and persecute them without any real reason or justification and to start with, Cullen had spoken in his defence, certain that the Knight-Captain was a harsh but fair templar with nothing but the safety of those around him foremost in his mind. But then something happened on the Wounded Coast that changed that perception forever.

Knight-Commander Meredith had received word that a band of smugglers had been approached to help some apostate mages from Kirkwall and escape the justice of the Templars. Marrks had been charged with apprehending these renegades and had ordered Cullen and a small squad of templars to accompany him to the Wounded Coast. An informer amongst the smugglers had told Marrks that the apostates would be gathering in one of the small caves at the base of the cliff, and he ordered Cullen and his men to take up ambush positions in order to surprise them and capture them before they could cast any offensive spells.

Soon enough, the group came into view and Cullen let out a sigh of relief. There would be no battle today. The apostates had turned out to be nothing more than a scared family, an anxious father, his pregnant wife and two children. They were magic-users definitely, but such a group would hardly pose a severe threat and would no doubt come along quietly when confronted by a group of templars. Sure enough, when Marrks led his men down to the beach, the father threw up his hands in supplication and at once surrendered himself into their custody, urging his wife to the same.

It should have ended there; it should have but it did not.

One of the children, a boy of no more than six or seven had panicked on seeing the armoured templars approaching and he turned to flee. His mother tried to grab him and lunged after the child with her hands spread wide to catch the hem of his tattered pants, but she was not fast enough.

Whether it was instinct or suspicion that motivated his actions, Knight-Captain Marrks reacted in a way that made Cullen's heart leap into his throat. With a contemptuous grin, Marrks smashed his fist into the woman's face and then caught up with the boy in a few, short strides. He seized him by the shoulders and spun him around before hauling the lad off his feet and throwing him to the ground beside his weeping mother. She gathered the terrified boy up into her arms, as if that simple action alone could fend off the attention of the large templar, but Marrks just sneered and drew his great-sword.

_'See how they run.'_ He had rasped. _'Just like frightened little rabbits, and that's just what they're like you know, men.'_ Then he held his blade level with the family and shook his head in disgust. _'Rabbits. Mages are just like them and they'll breed unchecked if we let them, spreading their disease everywhere. See how this bitch has already whelped two and has one on the way. She’ll not be so keen for it once they've made her tranquil. The rite will probably kill the one in her womb anyway, but it's one less for us to deal with, eh?'_

Cullen's eyes had scanned the faces of his fellow templars as they watched the scene unfolding before them. Some of them had laughed, amused by the Knight-Captain’s sickening words, but others had kept their expressions carefully frozen, hiding their feelings behind a façade of indifference. It was the look in their eyes that betrayed them though. 

Maker knows, Cullen had seen that very same look of shame and regret reflected in the mirror every day when he shaved.

_'Please. Serah.'_ The woman had begged as she wiped at the blood trickling from her spilt and swollen lip. _'Please, we will come with you only do not talk of such things. You're frightening the children. They are innocents in this.'_

_'Innocent only until they become abominations!'_ Marrks had snarled. _'Maybe it's better to kill them now and be done with it…'_

_'No!'_

Cullen was roughly shoved aside as the father pushed past him to reach his threatened family. Marrks grimaced angrily as he turned to face this potential threat and then it was as if the wrath of the nine hells had been unleashed. Cullen could only look on hopelessly as the Knight-Captain cried out and became a living pillar of flame, Cullen gagging on the greasy stench of charred flesh filled the air. The woman and her children screamed in fear as those templars not struck senseless by the magical shockwave that pulsed out from her shaking body, now advanced with swords drawn and deathly intent in their hearts.

Thinking quickly, Cullen focused all his power into one deep, cleansing burst and purged the area of all magical effects. Marrks dropped instantly to the ground, his armour glowing red-hot and his skin cracked and bleeding where it wasn’t like blackened parchment. The woman looked on in shock as she was surrounded by a wall of swords and she shrank back against the ground, fearful sobs wracking her body. The father, seeing his spell disrupted by what he must have perceived as another templar out for mage blood was on the verge of preparing another, but Cullen held his sword to the man's throat and shook his head.

_'Think before you act, man. The lives of your family depend on it.'_

A meaningful look toward the men surrounding his terrified family seemed to quell his anger and the apostate nodded slowly.

Cullen ordered his men to hold position as he knelt beside the ruined form of the Knight-Captain. Hatred and spite seemed to be the only things keeping him alive and his lips splintered into slivers of brittle flesh as he tried to hurl bitter abuse at the apostate, but it was obvious even to him that his time was done. There was no amount of healing that would cure those burns that in some places had fused armour to his skin in a molten mess.

_'End it…'_ Marrks had rasped, bloody froth pooling at the corners of his mouth. _'End it quickly, Lieutenant. But only after you kill them…slowly though, I want to see them fucking suffer for this…make them…fuck…'_

The rest of his words were lost to a gurgling, violent cough and for that Cullen was almost relieved, but not enough to keep from being startled as a gauntleted hand was laid upon his shoulder.

_'You know what must be done, Ser.’_ Said the templar who sought to reassure him, an older man with black hair and sad eyes. _'We have a duty, both to the Knight-Captain and to…to these poor souls.'_

_'Poor souls? These vile abominations should all die for their crimes.'_ Said another. _'Suffer not the maleficar to live, so sayeth the Chantry's own laws.'_

_'Abominations, hardly! They are children for Andraste's sake…'_

_'Children grow Lukas, and when the demons within them slaughter your family, then you will not be so…'_

_'Be silent!'_ Cullen ordered, finding that his heart and his head had come a decision much quicker than he could ever have expected. _'With the Knight-Captain incapacitated, I am now in command here and I will do my duty as a Templar! I also expect no less of all of you!'_

The authority in his tone and the commanding gaze he swept over them all had stunned them into silence and the templars obeyed without any further question or complaint. He ordered the woman and her children to be safely taken to the Gallows to await their fate at the hands of Knight-Commander Meredith and First Enchanter Orsino. No doubt, the children would be tested for any magical ability and if found capable, would be schooled in the art of magic under the strict tutelage of the Circle of Magi. As for the woman, she would be cared for by the Sisters of the Chantry until her baby was due to be born. After that things were less certain, but there was a slim chance that she too could be accepted by the Circle, if Meredith did not order her made tranquil. Cullen hoped she would not and volunteered to speak to the Knight-Commander on her behalf. Whether it would do any good was another matter entirely.

As for the father, alas there could be no such mercy and he knew it. The apostate had willingly attacked a templar, displaying a knowledge of elemental powers that left unchecked could represent a possible danger to himself and others. After Cullen had spoken to the woman, the apostate had looked at him with a curious expression and then slowly nodded his head as if already accepting of his fate. Indeed, he made no further protestations, nor signs of resistance even when asked to prepare himself to meet the Maker. He simply knelt upon the ground and whispered a quick prayer before closing his eyes to await the kiss of cold steel.

Cullen made sure that his execution was quick and painless.

As for Knight-Captain Marrks, he could feel the outraged sense of betrayal that radiated from what was left of the man. He tried to speak again, disgust lending strength to his ruined lungs but Cullen was no longer willing to listen to his hateful rhetoric. With a single thrust, he drew his dagger and slid the blade up between the Knight-Captain's ribs to pierce his heart. It was the humane thing to do, although Cullen couldn't help but feel that he did not deserve such a merciful death. The man had finally shown himself as a vile bigot and a bully, and it was to Cullen's shame that he had so easily bought into the extremist views that the man had so readily shared with all the young templars under his command.

Maybe the next Knight-Captain would prove to be a better man.

Upon his return to the Gallows, Cullen had been summoned to appear before Knight-Commander Meredith and the First Enchanter to give an account of his conduct. A part of him had wanted to denounce Marrks for his part in bringing about an unnecessary conflict, but he was all too aware of the heightened tension in the room as he began to recount his version of events, and the guarded look in Meredith's eyes was enough to make him choose his words carefully. Orsino had tried to pick apart his story, looking for any excuse to bring the order into disrepute, but Cullen had simply told the truth as far as his duty would allow and eventually even the old, elven Enchanter had seemed satisfied and left to deal with other matters.

It was only then that Knight-Commander Meredith had fixed him with that cold stare of hers and stated _'Tell me everything.'_

He would never forget that hour spent in her presence, going over and over the events leading up to Knight-Captain Marrks's death. Every word, every action and every decision was examined down to the finest detail. Meredith had interrogated him until his head was spinning and she was relentless in her pursuit of the truth. He had confessed to her that he believed the actions of Knight-Captain Marrks were motivated more by hatred than by duty, and he also expressed his willingness to speak on the victim's behalf and appeal for clemency. Meredith had listened intently until she finally sat back in her chair and watched him over her steepled fingers, but then it was as if she had silently come to a decision and she had dismissed him with a wave of her hand.

In the time that followed, Knight-Captain Marrks's remains were recovered and his ashes were interred in the Gallows Chapel with full templar honours.

After being subjected to a bout of rigorous testing, one of the apostate's children was found lacking in magical ability and given into the care of the Chantry to be placed in one of their orphanages. The other was admitted to the Circle of Magi in Ostwick on the grounds that it was better for the child to have a completely fresh start away from the harrowing events that had transpired in Kirkwall. As for the mother, her minor magical abilities meant that after giving birth to healthy baby girl, she was made tranquil in order to protect herself and others from harm and to lessen the pain from the loss of her family.

All on the orders of Knight-Commander Meredith herself…

After 'due consideration of the facts' of course.

It was not long after that, Cullen had found himself appointed to the vacant position of Knight-Captain as a reward for his due diligence and devotion to duty. Whether that was really the case, or whether it was a way of ensuring his continued compliance over the whole Marrks incident, it was something that troubled him during all his time serving under Meredith. 

As years passed, the Knight-Commander’s power grew. She seemed to control not only the templar garrison in the Gallows, but most of Kirkwall itself, and even Viscount Dumar was loathe to challenge her. Naturally as her influence continued to spread, First Enchanter Orsino found himself in direct conflict with her, openly denouncing her treatment of all magic-users and claiming that she was bitter and paranoid, driven only by her hatred of mages. Initially Cullen had tried to believe in the integrity of the order, tried to believe that Meredith was only acting in the best interests of those men under her command and the mages in her charge. However, after the Qunari attack on the city resulted in the death of the Viscount, there followed a series of events that shattered any remaining illusions that he clung to in respect of the Knight-Commander and the power struggle between Meredith and Orsino escalated to new and dangerous heights.  
If not for Garrett Hawke, Champion of Kirkwall, the city would have torn itself apart. 

Ironically, it was the action taken by one of Hawke’s own companions, an apostate healer named Anders, that was the catalyst for the death and destruction that followed. The man was an abomination of the worst kind, and he created a powerful, magical explosion that was designed to cause as much devastation as possible, and tip the scales in the brewing templar/mage conflict, forcing a confrontation that had so long been avoided. In a single, desperate act, he destroyed not only the city Chantry, but also took the lives of the Grand Cleric, the attending sisters, and also all the citizens, devotees and worshippers within that great building. 

It was said that Hawke had been furious, in a rage beyond rage, and yet he did not kill the murderer. Anders had believed in freedom for all mages and as an open apostate himself, perhaps Hawke felt some kinship with the renegade. Up until then, the two were said to be great friends, which certainly explained Hawke’s reluctance to immediately bring the rebel to justice, but when both Orsino and Meredith used the act of terror as an excuse to openly attack each other, then the hells broke loose.

First Meredith had declared that the Circle was corrupt and that she was invoking the Rite of Annulment. All mages were to be made tranquil or slaughtered irrespective of the fact that they had nothing to do with the treacherous renegade and his insidious plans. Of course Orsino had fought back, loudly proclaiming his innocence and the innocence of those in the Circle, demanding Meredith consider justice instead of vengeance. Naturally Hawke and his companions had sided with the First Enchanter, as even a fool could see the Knight-Commander was wrong, but they could not have foreseen that the elder, elven mage would turn to blood magic in his desperation, transforming into a wretched Harvester that attacked ally and enemy alike. So it was that Hawke was forced to slay the very man he had tried to protect for the good of all. 

Following that tragedy, it became obvious that the Knight-Commander had finally lost her grip on what little sanity she had remaining. She saw blood magic everywhere, in the face of every mage, in the face of the Champion and even in the faces of those templars who dared to question her. Her paranoia was so great, that anyone who would not stand with her was considered tainted and corrupt and worthy only of an agonising death granted by her magical blade…a blade made from raw, red lyrium that itself was as twisted and poisonous as the woman now wielding it.

Unwilling to stand by and see any more innocents slaughtered in the name of the Maker, Cullen had finally stepped forward and challenged Meredith, along with the Champion and his allies, what was left of the City Guard and those templars who like him, could no longer pretend that what they were doing was the Maker’s will.

The persecution, the hatred, the butchery…it had to end.

After a long and bitter struggle, where the true depth of Meredith’s corruption was revealed in the way she fought not only with the lyrium blade but with supernatural powers beyond that of any templar or mage, it was finally over. All that remained of the Knight-Commander was a smoking, blackened, ruin in the centre of the Gallows courtyard.

As for the Champion, Hawke fled Kirkwall with his piratical Rivaini lover, taking the renegade mage with him. Of his remaining allies, some stayed, while others left to follow their own paths. The templar garrison was left in tatters, directionless, doubting and without a leader, and the Circle of Magi was now nothing more than a broken shell of what it had been. The city itself was torn and divided, the ruined Chantry like an open, festering wound that seemed to radiate discontent and fear from its blackened heart. So, when the news finally reached Cullen that he was to assume command of both the templar garrison and the city, at least until a new Viscount could be appointed, he had received it with a heavy heart but accepted for the greater good of all.

There were so many questions in his mind, and so many challenges to face in the days ahead but one thing was for certain, he would not make the same mistakes as Meredith Stannard.

Acting Knight-Commander Cullen had learned his lessons well. 

________________________________________

“A courier brought this message for you, Knight-Commander.”

“What…?” Cullen's mind snapped forcibly back to his current situation as he became aware of the younger, sandy-haired templar handing him a leather wallet.  
“Oh, thank you, Ser Hugh. I was miles away, bad memories, you know. I find they have a habit of creeping up on you.”

“They do at that, Ser. Especially with recent events and all.” Hugh’s sympathetic face was momentarily illuminated by a brilliant flash of lightening and as if on cue, the rain began to really pour down. “It's almost as if Andraste herself is weeping, is it not? I fear we are in for a hell of storm over Kirkwall tonight, a hell of a storm indeed.”

“Just tonight?” Cullen muttered then shrugged. “My apologies, Hugh. I fear the weather has left me ill-humoured and in need of a warm fire and a good night's sleep.”

“I understand, Knight-Commander.” Ser Hugh nodded and pulled his cloak more tightly about his shoulders as Cullen slipped the missive from the wallet and scanned the contents. “So is there to be any reply, Ser?”

“No.” He paled slightly as he folded up the message and slipped it beneath his armour. “No reply.”

“Very good, Ser.” Hugh said and then looked at him curiously. “Forgive me Knight-Commander, but is everything alright?”

“Yes, fine.” Sighing deeply, Cullen looked up into the stormy sky. “Make sure the courier has a hot bowl of broth before he leaves. Though the rain has been heavy already, I feel the worst is yet to come.”

“Yes, Ser.” Hugh crossed his arms over his chest in salute. “Maker watch over you, Knight-Commander."

“And you.”

After waiting until the young knight was half-way across the courtyard, Cullen removed the message from his armour and once more read the words that were written on the creamy paper.

_‘To the Commanding Officer in Charge, Kirkwall Templar garrison_

_Although we understand that your fair city has suffered much in recent times, alas there is a pressing matter regarding a known deserter from our order which demands our urgent attention._

_Thus, I will be travelling to Kirkwall in the hope that I can meet with you to discuss the issue further._

_With sincerest respect,_

_Ellanne Amell, Warden-Commander of Ferelden’_

Standing there in the archway with the rain lashing against the ancient stones and the wind howling like a savage beast deprived of his prey, Cullen found himself shocked and yet strangely amused.

Ellanne Amell…well, well. 

In that very moment it seemed there had never been more truth than in the old saying…

It never rains, but it pours.


End file.
